


i can't look at the stars (they make me wonder where you are)

by Beeze



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, HUGE BVS SPOILERS, SPOILS THE END OF BVS MY GOD, the old christen your childhood bed trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 15:19:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6381646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beeze/pseuds/Beeze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He smiles down at her, all warmth and tenderness and says evenly, “I love you.” </p><p>Lois rolls her eyes playfully, tilts her head to the side and reaches for him, his skin sliding against hers. “You’re just saying that,” she helps him unbutton his pants and push them down, using her toes to inch them further to the ground. “Because we’re about to christen your childhood bed.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	i can't look at the stars (they make me wonder where you are)

**Author's Note:**

> BVS wrecked my poor ass. I feel like we all have grounds to sue Snyder, sweet jesus. But maybe I should thank him because it motivated me to write a clois fic, and they've been an OTP since I was about three years old and watching Dean and Terri's version on Saturday mornings in my superman pajamas. ANYWAYS, this is pretty angsty, but sexytimes anyone???
> 
> Not beta-read, and I KNOW the tenses are a mess, I'm sorry! I hope to write more of these two because I really do love the DCEU's interpretation of them.
> 
> Title taken from 'Stars' by Grace Potter & the Nocturnals. It's a Clois song for me, what can I say?

Her chest feels hollow.

As if she had taken a dull pen, one out of the drawer in her desk with the cap bitten and torn, and cut into her skin, pulling out the organs, but leaving the bones. It keeps her shape, helps her stand or lay curled in a ball on Clark’s childhood bed, just as she is now. 

So many people are here. They have stories of a Clark she doesn’t know. Of a Clark who was shy and kept to himself, of a teenaged Clark who was angry at everyone and everything, but found a sense of calm after the death of his father. 

She had seen Clark angry. Angry at Zod, at men who held guns to her head, at Perry who refused to let him write the stories that _Superman_ wanted to write. 

She has a hard time describing Clark as calm. 

He was always alive with her, always strung taught, running the line between Clark and Superman, fidgeting with his glasses, shuffling his feet as people looked at him a little too closely, thrumming with energy, with racing thoughts and calculated moves. She thinks about just the two of them. In their apartment (her mailbox might have said Lane, but it was a Kent residence too). How’d she’d sit in a t-shirt of his or one of his run down flannel shirts, depending on the weather, perched on the counter, swinging her bare feet and chewing on some bacon as he whistled, or sing or talk animatedly to her while standing half naked and making them breakfast. 

_Find a man that can cook, Lo, her mother had said. Or you’re gonna starve._

_Nuh-uh, Lois had said, a teenager with a full faced grin. I love take out._

Maybe Clark was never calm. He was always dealing with what he had done to Zod, with what they together had done to Metropolis, with what people thought of him, with all the voices and the pain he could hear, that he couldn’t _save_. Clark wasn’t calm, but he was happy. With her. With his mother. When he was just Clark Kent, farm boy of Smallville, Kansas. 

She remembers the first time she had seen him like that. It was different than how he was in the city, with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder and his smile light as it touched her face. He was free on the farm, his shoulders loose and his stance relaxed and his smile- she smiles herself as she thinks about it – was so big, so unrestricted and he laughed as the Kent family dog came barreling towards him, paws pushing at his chest. 

Martha hadn’t been home, working a shift at the diner to help pay off all the work her home had required after Zod had nearly brought it to the ground. Clark himself sent her a portion of his own checks from the Daily Planet to help. He had seemed nervous as he showed her around, leading her by the hand, up the stairs and into his youthful bedroom. It was a snug little room, a dresser, a desk and a bed. Planets hung above his bed and she could easily imagine a tiny Clark, lying there and thinking “which one did I come from?” and it made her heart ache. 

“Mom made up the guest room for us.” 

“Us?” She had teased, smirk in place. 

He nearly blushed. “Yeah, she, uh, she figured we’d want to stay together and this thing is too small,” he kicked his tiny twin bed gently and she laughed, squeezing his larger and stronger hand with her own. 

“You know that for sure, Kent?” He laughs, it’s so light and it moves her in all the right places. 

He opens his mouth to respond, but laughs again and falters, shaking his head. “I can’t say that, no.” His laughter stops and his grip finds her hips as she slides her hands under his shirt, over the muscles that flex and twitch under her fingertips and the wiry hair that tickles her. She pulls softly at the hair she catches and then his mouth finds hers. He’s hard, but gentle. He pushes against her and pulls her to him at the same time, his hands drifting swiftly from the swell of her hips to the back of her thighs – and she knows exactly what he’s going to do before he does it, he knows exactly what this move does to her – and lifts her up in one stroke, her arms winding around his neck and her legs twining around his hips. She laughs and breathes into the kiss, his answering grin slides against her lips and her heart feels so warm and so full. 

The sheets are scratchy against her naked back, the way old, unused sheets are, but Lois doesn’t care. She arches up, chest pushed forward and digging her heels into the mattress as Clark pulls his shirt off with one easy hand and throws it onto the floor. He smiles down at her, all warmth and tenderness and says evenly, “I love you.” 

Lois rolls her eyes playfully, tilts her head to the side and reaches for him, his skin sliding against hers. “You’re just saying that,” she helps him unbutton his pants and push them down, using her toes to inch them further to the ground. “Because we’re about to christen your childhood bed.” She’s messing with him. Pushing at his small town, wholesome sensibilities. Not that he’s an angel, but he surely prides himself on being as gentlemanly as possible. 

She knows he loves her. She can feel it every time he looks at her, every time he kisses her, every time he says her name. She loves him too. She hopes he can feel it too. 

He’s heavy on top of her, but she’s told him before – “ _I like it_ ” – it’s a safe, comforting weight, and she wraps herself around him like a second skin, comforting him right back. He laughs, lighter than before as he says, “Maybe when we’re done here we can fly over to your childhood bed. Make it a double deal.” 

She laughs loudly, throws back her head and shuts her eyes at his offer. Clark leans down and his teeth find her neck, biting down then soothing with his tongue. She bites her lip and swallows her laugh. “I don’t have a childhood bed,” she tells him, breathless from his words and from his teeth. “We moved too much. But I love you for the sentiment.” He hums and his hands find the top of her leggings, and skims it, running the pads of his fingers over her skin, the callus sending goose bumps and anticipation across her body. She shivers and digs her fingers into his naked back. 

He kisses up her neck, a warm heat and then kisses right on the corner of her mouth before moving his body down, pressing her into the mattress as he goes. Her skin prickles from the loss of warmth and he settles between her thighs, his large chest pushing her thighs apart to cradle him. He pulls down the cotton leggings as he goes, taking the silk flowered panties with them before throwing them over his shoulder, unimportant and forgotten. 

They’ve been sleeping together for months now, living together for a few weeks, and if there is one thing that Clark likes, that Clark is _beyond_ excellent at it’s going down on her. He approaches it the way she approaches a story: firm, determined, methodical and excited. He splays her thighs apart, using his palms to lie them flat against the roughened comforter and runs his nose in the crease under her knee before kissing it. He ditched his glasses the moment they had walked through the front door and she can see his face clearly. His eyes never leave hers and his lips quirk up ever so slightly on the edges as he watches her. 

Lois watches him right back. It’s a kink of hers, and he knows it. 

He runs his tongue along the inside of her thigh, before clamping down with teeth and she gasps, rolling her back, arching up her chest and sliding one of her hands into her hair, silky but tangled, and another to cover his palm resting on her thigh. His fingers circle around hers and she sighs.

A huff of hot breath on her cunt and her breath stutters. The touch of his tongue, flat and firm and sure, against her clit has her tensing in such a delicious way and she thrusts a hand into his hair, thick and soft and perfect to hold onto while he undoes her. Clark sucks her clit into his mouth and the sound she makes is unseemly. She can feel him smile against her and she tightens the hold in his hair. He uses one hand to brace her hips and it looks and feels lightweight, but she can’t move, can’t thrust or grind her cunt against him and she lets out a frustrated grunt. Clark, _the bastard_ , smiles against her again and she twists her head. “Clark,” she lets out in a strangled whisper. “ _Please_.” She never begs in bed. Well, she never begged in bed. It always made her feel less, feel like she had given in to some submissive role assigned to her gender, made her weak. But not with Clark. It doesn’t feel like that with Clark. 

(Especially not when she thinks about the first time she had wrapped her hand around his dick and he had begged so fervently she thought he might cry.) 

Heat pools at her core and it tingles at her spine and she stares up at the planets that dangle above the bed as she comes, a soundless moan caught in her throat. She vaguely feels him press kisses against her thighs, against her stomach and all the way back up to her neck. Her limbs are all jelly as he rids her of her bra. She’s still practically mindless as he palms at one breast and takes the other one into his mouth, grasping the nipple with sharp teeth and making her hiss. 

Lois begins to laugh, still staring up at the planets that loom above her. 

Clark pauses, releases her sensitive flesh and shifts above her. “If you’re laughing,” he tells her sternly. “I didn’t do it right.” 

Lois shakes her head, laughing still and pulling her legs up to cradle him to her. “Stars,” she says. “Your planets are missing stars.” He turns his neck to look above them and begins to laugh with her. “Don’t worry,” she tells him slyly. “I saw them for you.” He turns back to her, smiling wide before grabbing her face and kissing her soundly. 

“I love you so much,” he whispers as he slides into her. One of his hands gropes for hers, pulling it down from off his back and he threads their fingers together before pushing them above their heads and smashing them into the pillows. 

“That’s good,” she whispers back. “Because I love you too.” 

But here, on the bed alone and cold and covered in the black dress she wore to Jimmy’s funeral, there are no stars. 

The planets are alone and the stars are gone. 

Lois doesn’t cry. She cried over him, his blood on her hands as she grappled for his life, wanted to pull it back from the afterlife herself. She cried and cried and cried and it had done nothing. He stayed still and cold and lifeless. 

She hears his voice – “ _You are my world_ ” – and feels his hands on her face, and she reaches up as if she can grab it and hold it to her, but it’s gone before she can touch it. 

There is only the silence now.


End file.
